


Barry's Torture (in progress)

by MarthaBug0192



Category: Justice League (2017), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Abuse, Barry Allen Whump, Bathing/Washing, Blood, Cock Cages, Electrocution, Ezra Miller - Freeform, F/M, Force-Feeding, Gags, Grant Gustin - Freeform, Humiliation, Hurt Barry Allen, Leather Kink, Light Bondage, M/M, Medical, Medical Procedures, Minor Barry Allen/Iris West, Needles, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Nudity, Snuff, Torture, Whipping, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 01:49:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18539836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarthaBug0192/pseuds/MarthaBug0192
Summary: Technically starts at chapter 2, chap 1 is self indulgent. Psychological torture, public nudity, needles, blood, humiliation, electric play, whips and gags, cock caging / emasculation, intense snuff, sexual themes, mental disorders, violence, triggers, force-feeding and medical intervention and bathing and forced survival and plenty of language ahead. Barry Allen wakes up to find himself stuck in a small Dimension where he will face torture for surviving his coma, and misunderstood sins such as lust and gluttony. His powers slowly depleting, actually, being used against him for abusing the speed force for his personal gain.. Grant Gustin or Ezra Miller, includes characters from both universes





	1. Chapter 1

A lamp dangled overhead. With a click, the bulb was raging so brightly that it flickered for mercy every few seconds.

Cold sweat was caking up in crevices of his mask, slowly beating into his eyes until they awoke. His lips glued together from the grogginess, his jaw too weak to yawn it Iff. He was ready to roll over and fall back asleep. He has taken power naps in his suit before, and he's never slept so deeply in his life so there wasn't any reason to get up and change.

His suit glossed over in an odd chill. Curling up in attempt to conserve heat pulled everything tight against the blisters and stinging goosebumps. His cold breath bounced off the concrete below him. The concrete was moist, sticky and musky, with stale drool and sweat being the only warmth. Even his blood was beginning to go cold and his erection felt more crushed than stiff. Under the skin-tight padding, his nipples bulged like frozen peas and ached with each chafe.

The concrete below his face. Under his tingling gloves, aching his elbows as the bone pressed into it. his hip bone and ribs digging into his organs, sandwiched buy cold concrete and his body weight.

He winced as he propped on to his elbow. The puddle below him was tinted, a glistening red like wine with a metallic scent that was sticking to his face. He couldn't help but run his tongue along the roof of his mouth, for that sweet, grainy, wispy, lustful taste. Before screaming, and desperately looking around at the rhythm of his slamming heart.

The concrete was closing him in. The walls were splayed in cracks, but they only seemed to draw in more cold. Cracks in the floor suctioned him down, pulling the ceiling down lower and lower. Another tiny crack trailed towards his face as a deafening slam made his ears ring.

A goddess came from behind him. Her tight heels planted into the ground, fishnets trailing up her thick legs, with lace cuffs that groped her thighs. The netting appeared even tighter the further up her body it went; her soft ass cheeks consuming her tiny sticky thong, her exposed waist and arms puffy in White crosshatch, her breasts pouring out and turning a light blue shade when they refused to be restrained by the leather corset and knotted netting. She ran her steel riding crop along her bulging cleavage to make sure Barry would notice it.. A few stains on the crop were pale, but the blood that had seeped into the holes and scratches was still as tender as her lips.

His eyes scrunched but he couldn't look away. He should have stopped trying when he realized that was the point. He knew he should have stop trying to resist when he saw that riding crop. When the cold, rough steel brushed along his cheek and jabbed him in the neck.

The goddess' words poured over him like melted candy. "It's okay, Bartholomew. Give in."

His tongue batted around his mouth. He couldn't do this to Iris. He couldn't do this to himself. For whatever reason he was here, it wasn't to drool over this woman, while she taunted him and watched him wither in what was probably going to be his death. Yet, just yet, he couldn't find a way to say no.

" Bartholomew Henry. You are going to take punishment anyway. You may as well give in and enjoy what's going to come."

Henry. It wasn't only his name, but his father's name.

The father he has disappointed and failed. Who is locked up in the same hell. This is what it was, pure hell that reeks of shit beyond the dead blood and musk of aged concrete and shame. The only door in this room was so far away from him, that if he where to have the energy to crawl over, and a way to pick the many rusted bolts and locks, this woman and her bloody weapon would still stand between them. Similar to the hell that he allows his father to go through. He was his father, but with shame - the nasty inability to not deny this woman.

He allowed her to stroke him through his suit with her crop. He laid there, letting his elbow give up on him, letting his shoulder hit the floor, as this woman ran her riding crop down his chest. He could barely feel it through the layers, and he hated himself for wishing she would stroke him harder with it. Barry knew this was wrong. He knew somehow, giving her permission to do this would make the situation worse and would eventually lead to her using this as a weapon. But when he felt that very, very light yet heavy brush over his codpiece...

"Good..." she crooned. She had him. And couldn't help but giggle when a defeated sigh left him and his body splayed on the concrete in submission.

" I hope you're enjoying it."

" I hope it's worth it."

"Your father would be so disappointed. So disgusted. Seeing you here now. Like this."

She snapped the crop along his face. With a rip, and a dry his from his throat, he was on his knees. His face digging into his hands, the leather and quartz of his gloves chilly against his scraped chin.

Before the pain could begin to subside, she striked him again. Along his cheek, the scraping was even deeper, and the flakes of torn skin started bubbling up in red. The tip of his thumb started throbbing with hot blood where the crop had struck it.

Barry was hissing. Digging his face deeper into his gloves even though the stretching and pressure made the pain worse. His mind was scrambling, panicking, crying inside. He's never felt this bad of pain before. Well, he knows pain, but he couldn't remember any point where it's been this concentrated, this intentional. This lengthy. Any injuries he's had in the past eternity would instantly mend, and these strikes would be expected to heal by the instant, however the skin wasn't closing up. His chin still searing with friction. Cheek still boiling in blood, smearing onto his lips whenever he rubbed his face around in his hands. The air and sweat seeping into the pockets torn skin and tingling with undeniable weakness.

The woman jabbed his neck with the riding crop. Pushing it up toward the base of skull to bring chills down his body. He had to pull away from the wounds on his face in order to hug himself. His suit wasn't retaining any body heat, and his warmth was slowly leaving him through his sweat and blood.

She was right. Barry was weak, on his knees slumping over, hugging himself over a few scratches. His father would be so disappointed. His father has seen him cry, and as ridiculous as those tears felt, those were actual pains and fears. This was absolutely nothing.

The crop jabbed his spine. And then the steel handle was rode up the back of his head.

As his wincing numbed down, she told him, "Look."

The handle guided his head to the side, where the large wall how turn into a mirror. His pathetic, heaving little body was so tiny in the reflection, yet it was just clear enough for him to see his face covered in scratches that weren't going anywhere, and a thin film of smeared blood. His sweaty mask wasn't enough to conceal the shame. The deep red was beginning to look like blood all over his face, the longer he was unable to blink. The gloves on his hands also resembled blood, and the real blood on his hands gave the burgundy leather a fresh shine.

That light bulb. Blinding like the sun. Yet it was no replacement for any sun. It was beginning to beat down on him, staring at him in the mirror, shimmering the blood and drool. And his suit was beginning to absorb the heat. Twinges of warmth, though very small, felt amazing on his goosebumps. The aching would stop eating away at his nipples and cock. In the mirror, his shoulders hesitantly rose and his hug laxed, in hopes of getting back to a comfortable temperature.

"Are you enjoying the heat, hmm?" The woman was groping at the crop, smacking it on her open hand loudly.

She whipped the steel handle on his back. Pushing a lustful moan from his throat when a warm bruise rushed over his spine.


	2. Chapter 2

Another whip to his neck. A third to his hip. Which ripped his suit, bringing in a gust of cold air. He moaned in protest and splayed forward, trying to escape the whipping. His eyes widened when tassels brushed against the bare skin on his hip. Tassels that were an inch wide, and at least a centimeter thick, with tears in the leather that would leave welts on his skin.

Barry was grumbling. Attempts to ask why he was here. Merely attempts.

The woman stepped forward. She bent down until her knees nearly touched the floor. She snapped the chin piece away to see more of his face, and to hold it as one would a collar. Her nails digging at his neck

When his face dipped, her finger gently lifted his chin. When he moved his face, she clenched his jaw. Scrunching the skin, grinding his teeth, forcing him to look at her.

"Look. Look at me, Barry."

She closed in on his face. Clenching tighter. Her eyes following his whenever he tried to avoid her. Every few seconds, her palm would smear the tears out of his eyes and slap the sweat away to keep his view clear. Then holding his makeshift collar even tighter against his spine.

All he could do was gasp for breath. It wasn't even sobbing anymore. He didn't know what he was trying to say or do. She was the one doing anything and everything. All he could do was sit and wait for her to have enough.

And let her remind him of his things he's had plenty of.

Maybe if he were to look at her, she would finally stop. Maybe she would remember that he is human and he's worthy of cooperation and respect. Barry's eyes met hers, with an empty stare but still something along the lines of eye contact. To his surprise, she smiled. It was progress.

The grip on his makeshift collar loosened.

" I assume you'd like to survive, Barry. Correct? And I assume that you would like to pay all your debts and doubts?"

His eyes sparkled. An instant desperation triggered by the word survival and the implication of relief. In the case where he couldn't speak, this was plenty of consent.

" You have cheated death not once but twice. A certain someone lost her life in your place."

New tears welled up in his eyes. His brain scrambled to try to suppress the memories of that night. The water leaping from the aquarium replaced by blood that was drying up on the floor. The burning bulb and sweltering sweat were just as suffocating as the static, vibrations, beams of lightning. As the images flooded, he would try to remember everything besides for- don't say it. She wanted him to think about it, about that someone. She wanted him to remember how he was the one who was supposed to die, and what his mother got instead. And what his father got.

"Answer this, Barry Allen. About your coma."

She snagged the makeshift collar. Pulling it back so it would graze against his Adam's apple and pull him up even further. Forcing a silent grunt from his throat.

She spat in his face, "Are you a human or a pig, Henry Allen?"

His eyebrows furrowed through the sweat. The tears began to flood again. Weighting his face down into her hand with nothing but a truce. There was nothing. Wasn't smart enough to defend his father's name, let alone his own self which was already a shame to his father.

The woman spoke louder to circumvent is hysterical sobbing. "Do you remember waking from your coma?"

" 9 months, Barry Allen."

They waited on him. Waited on him, tended to him. Kept his mother's hopeless case alive and loved for almost a whole year.

He woke up fighting. Taking advantage. They never gave up on him. All those medical problems, desperation for friends, that annoying attitude to prosper for the world, the disobedience that often involved getting Cisco in trouble. Of course he remembers.

9 months. Countless amount of days, blood, cheers, money. All for him to end up on his knees, being held at the neck and face by a woman who continuously disrespects his father's name and uses his mother as a tool. On his knees, being held by his neck, letting her do it.

The tassels stroked his back. It wasn't only the woman.

The leather whipped against his back with an ear piercing rip. Another tear in his suit. More cold air seeping in and chilling his bare skin.

His back thrusted to avoid getting whipped on his bare skin. If it were enough to split layers, he didn't want to imagine the gash it would create in his muscles.

A deeper yet soft voice. "You've destroyed many of my things. It's my turn."

The woman yanked his collar, pulling him onto his back. His elbows slamming on the ground to catch his fall.

Towering above him was Cisco and Caitlin. For a moment, he didn't even care that they were smiling glossing in amusement. His blurry eyes didn't know anything. It wasn't them. Couldn't have been.

Barry tried to sit up. But any move was punished for. His neck was locked into the woman's arms, his head in her lap, where the smell of pink velvet and bouncing of her breasts was guiding more blood into his erection. Any attempts to squirm free or conceal his bulging codpiece resulted in Caitlin kicking him in the ribs. One of her high heels pinned his hand to the concrete, upon request from Cisco.

"You'll need to restrain him."

Barry was able to push out a no. He wasn't ready to find out what happened next. He didn't give consent for his friends to see him like that or consent for any of this to happen.

Caitlin nodded. "On it."

"Please..." Barry managed to gasp. "No."

Caitlin released her foot. As Barry hissed in pain, she reached for his other hand so she could force his hands to cross along his heart. Her foot would crush both of his hands in place while her hand searched around her skirt pocket.

Barry noticed a box shaped bulge in her pocket. A box shaped exactly like the one she pulled out at the bar on their first night out as a group. Filled with lancets and needles and everything in between. In the same context as restraint.

The woman pressed her hand to his mouth so he couldn't scream. He couldn't shake away the fear with them restraining his top and Cisco rushing to grab his feet. His heart and lungs tried pressing their way through his rib cage. All he could do was grunt from his throat and unsuccessfully thrash. Aside from imagining what exactly was going to happen. Not what could happen, but what was going to happen. Barry could only think about tens of butterfly needles or thousands of tiny lancets nailing the skin of his hands down.

Caitlin pulled out what was indeed her hobby box.

More sweat and tears beat on the woman's hand. Barry let out a gasp for mercy and confused relief when his codpiece was flooded, and a warm trickle met his thigh.

His eyes scrunched. It didn't keep them from seeing him, but the illusion was comforting. He froze from head to toe, nothing to do or think next. He was at the peak of submission and everything that could have happened as already happened.

10 seconds had passed. Perfectly still and obedient. He opened his eyes again to see the box back in Caitlin's pocket. And the woman's hand coming towards his cheek to pet him. Each caress sent minty chills down his neck and arms.

"Good boy... Give in."

A pair of shears was like ice on his hip. Cisco was at his side, working through a hole.


	3. A/N: Who wants more?

I've been having some mental health problems and I'm getting back to living. I enjoy writing this story but I need to manage my time. If people enjoy this and want more updates, I'm sorry for the wait, it's not too late, please tell me and I will start writing again. Otherwise I will be focusing on other stories and new drabbles/requests. I appreciate everyone who's been here, it's amazing I can share my ideas with you.


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